


Anticipation

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [71]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Okay, but what if you’re not sure,” Jared says. “And I keep going anyway and like, permanently scar you?”“Your dick isn’t that big,” Bryce says, doing a pretty dead on impression of Jared. Well. It’s a snotty impression of Jared, but Jared’s pretty sure that most people would say the snottiness made it dead on.“I meant psychologically,” Jared says. “God.”





	Anticipation

So like, Jared would be the last person ever to call himself a virgin, because he isn’t one, and hasn’t been since he overruled Bryce’s confused belief that ‘Netflix and chill’ should actually involve watching movies. The whole ‘the only way to lose your virginity is through intercourse’ is bullshit and like, obviously doesn’t apply to him, because they tend to mean vaginal intercourse and that sure as shit isn’t ever happening, so by that particular definition, Jared is going to die a virgin.

Honestly, fucking Bryce is just one sex act among a bunch of sex acts, many they’ve tried, and it inherently has like, no more weight or meaning than the first time Jared jerked Bryce off or blew him. He’s sure it’d feel good, but everything they do together feels good. It’s not like, a step in the relationship or some bullshit, because Jared is totally in on Bryce, and he knows that’s mutual, and if anything, it’s more like, Bryce being more comfortable with what he wants than anything else. Which is awesome, but like, technically no different than the first time Bryce let Jared put handcuffs on him. In the whole scheme of things, it’s no big deal.

Jared cannot stop thinking about what Bryce said. He remembers that happening with the handcuffs too, but not like, to this level, where he’s just constantly in this distracted haze of lust. Of course Bryce had to mention it before he went on a four game road trip. And like, maybe he didn’t even mean it. Or maybe he did at the time, but something you say post-orgasm isn’t necessarily something you’d say when you’re not full of endorphins, so maybe Bryce has changed his mind and here Jared is, brain pretty much permanently on a subject that Bryce will want dropped.

There’s an easy way to find out — well, potentially awkward, so not necessarily _easy_ — but Jared’s still trying to figure out how to phrase it without sounding like he’s pressuring Bryce at all, because if Bryce changed his mind, that’s cool, and totally fine and — crap, even in his head he can’t phrase things well — when Bryce Skypes him after a win in Kansas City. It was an ugly game from start to finish, and Bryce didn’t help matters, but he looks pretty serene for someone who was screaming at the guy in the other penalty box an hour ago. The words ‘motherfucking piece of shit’ were definitely uttered. Jared could read his lips just fine.

“You’re a thug,” Jared says. “I’m dating a thug.”

Bryce laughs. “Hardy’s an asshole,” he says.

“You’re an asshole,” Jared says. “Quit taking dumb penalties.”

“He started it,” Bryce mutters, which is true, but also like, the exact reason why he got two stupid penalties tonight, because refs will call retaliation every single time, and Bryce knows it. And yet still retaliates, which his opponents know. Bryce is lucky he sat in the box for the entirety of his extra minor, because it was a one goal game at the time, same as the final score.

Bryce pouts at him. “You kind of liked it,” he says.

“I did not,” Jared says. “You’re like, the smartest player I know right up until someone trips you and then you go Incredible Hulk on them.”

“He slashed me,” Bryce says, like that’s the point.

Jared rolls his eyes.

“Hey, you got a penalty, like, last game,” Bryce says. “So you can’t talk.”

“For a high-stick,” Jared says. “That was totally accidental.”

“It’s your responsibility to control your stick, Jared,” Bryce says, sounding dead on like Jared’s bantam coach. 

“Not controlling my stick is different from cross-checking a dude in the throat,” Jared says. “Three times.”

Bryce does not look repentant. It’s very annoying. Jared imagines it’s even more annoying to be his coach, though Jared hopes he at least _fakes_ being repentant with Burns. He probably doesn’t, honestly, or does like, a really bad job of it. Bryce isn’t great at the whole pretending thing.

“I totally didn’t Skype you just to get lectured again,” Bryce says.

“Too bad,” Jared says.

“Jared,” Bryce complains. “I had a reason.”

“Not just to see my pretty face?” Jared says.

“I mean, it’s a bonus,” Bryce says. 

Jared grins.

“They uh,” Bryce says. “When they do all those preseason medical tests? They make us do an STD thing.”

“I’m…assuming you’re not saying you’ve, like, hid one from me since September?” Jared asks.

Bryce rolls his eyes at him, which is fair. “No, I mean, I’m clean. You’re — clean, right?”

“I have literally never even kissed anyone but you, so if you are I am,” Jared says.

Bryce gets this pleased little smile on his face, which is ridiculous, because he already _knows_ he was Jared’s first kiss. Jared told him like, almost immediately after. What did he think, Jared was secretly kissing non-Bryce people in the interim?

“Stop looking smug,” Jared says.

Bryce’s smug little smile is not going away.

“Stop,” Jared whines.

The smile gets smugger.

“Why are you even mentioning this anyway?” Jared asks. “I mean, we don’t use condoms anyway, so.”

Own them, yes. But Jared’s not entirely sure they’re not expired by now, because they don’t use them for blowjobs or anything, and definitely not for handies, so they’ve basically been irrelevant since Bryce doesn’t want to — except that Bryce said he did and Jared is _really slow_ tonight, wow.

Bryce’s smug smile is now gone, replaced by an embarrassed face. Jared wants the smile back.

“We obviously —” Jared says. “It’s fine if you don’t want to — it’s like, less messy, though.”

Bryce now actively looks like he wishes for death. Jared is so bad at this. If they were in the same place Jared could shut himself up with Bryce’s mouth, but they’re not, so he can’t, and instead he just keeps on going.

“But messy’s fine if you want!” Jared says, a little hysterically. “I mean. I don’t mind messy. Messy’s totally — I like messy. Feel free to tell me to shut up, like, any time now. I don’t know why words keep coming out of my mouth.”

Amused face! Definite improvement. He’s still red, but he doesn’t look like Jared’s going to kill him with stupid words anymore.

“So like no condoms is fine,” Jared says. “If that was the question. Which I’m assuming it was. And if it refers to — seriously, just tell me to shut up.”

“It’d be like stepping in front of a train,” Bryce says.

“Rude,” Jared says. “You say that like you don’t ramble whenever you’re nervous too.”

“I don’t,” Bryce says, which is an enormous falsehood, then, “Are you nervous?”

“Not really?” Jared says. “I mean. Like. Anticipate-ory? Probably? Anticipatory? Is that a word?”

Bryce’s blank face reminds Jared he is probably not the person to ask.

“Whatever the word is,” Jared says. “That’s what I am.”

“Me too,” Bryce says. 

But also nervous. It’s written all over his face. 

“I mean,” Jared says. “I think the vibrator experiment went pretty well?”

“Jared,” Bryce hisses, like he isn’t like, completely alone in his room, and like he wasn’t _actively_ there during said experiment. He’s ridiculous.

“It did, right?” Jared says. “Though like. I guess that’s not a perfect basis of comparison considering my dick doesn’t vibrate, so.”

Bryce snorts. “If this is you working up to Skype sex—” he says.

“Then I am doing an absolutely terrible job,” Jared agrees. “Is it working anyway?”

“No,” Bryce says. 

Jared waits.

“Take your pants off,” Bryce says.

*

Anticipatory _is_ a word — Jared checked — and he is it. It is he. He is also kind of mad at Bryce for bringing the whole thing up after game two of that four game trip, because on the one hand, Jared’s no longer desperately trying to figure out if Bryce meant what he said, but on the other hand, he has an actual job to do that he is maybe not paying the most attention to, and ‘I’m sorry, I was thinking about fucking my boyfriend’ is absolutely not an acceptable excuse when you get called out by your coach for zoning out during practice.

He plays okay — no room for anything but hockey once the puck drops — but he’s a distracted mess the rest of the time, spends an almost ludicrous number of hours scanning how-to guides for like, good sex. They’re mostly common sense, shit he already knows: preparation’s important, comfort’s important, checking in with your partner’s important, don’t just stick it in, duh. No glove no love, but he thinks they’re okay on that front. He takes notes by hand and then, realising how ridiculous it’d look if Bryce found them, crumples them up and throws them in the recycling, makes sure to take said recycling out before Bryce gets home.

They don’t overlap in Calgary long — Jared’s leaving just over twenty-four hours after Bryce gets back — but Bryce has a three day break between games, so it’s probably a good time, just like, on the physical front. Jared checks and then double checks their lube stock, even though he knows they’ve got plenty. Buys new condoms even though Bryce said he didn’t want to use them, like, just in case he changes his mind, even though the ones they have are apparently still good for another year. 

He takes some towels out of the hall closet, because some guides mentioned them, leaves them at the foot of the bed, and then puts them back an hour later. They can change the sheets after or whatever — he’s not like, a romantic or anything, but he doesn’t want to have sex on towels, and Bryce _is_ a romantic, so he imagines that he doesn’t either. Stocks the bedside table. Double checks they’ve got Gatorade and snacks, then finds himself laughing kind of hysterically to himself in front of the fridge, because it’s fucking sex, not a marathon. And is _very_ doubtfully going to be marathon sex. Jared will be lucky if he lasts like, long enough not to be epically disappointing.

So maybe he’s a little nervous too, despite what he said to Bryce. But anticipatory — that’s still the best word for it.

*

Jared is planning on playing it cool when Bryce gets home. He’ll have food ready for a late lunch, because Bryce doesn’t like plane food, even though the Flames’ plane food is like, worlds better than normal plane food, Jared’s sure. They’ll catch up like they always do, because even if they talk every day on the phone, there’s something different about talking face to face. Maybe watch TV or a movie, let Bryce settle in before Jared brings it up. He might not even want to tonight. ‘Next time’ doesn’t necessarily mean like, the very next time they have sex, it could just mean the next time Bryce wants like, penetration. And he might not tonight: there’s moods to it, Jared knows, same as just about any other sex thing. Well, except blowjobs, at least in Jared’s case. He has literally never not been in the mood to get sucked off.

He took a shower in the morning, but when Bryce is due in about an hour, he takes another one, thoroughly scrubs like, his entire body, then jerks off to take the edge off, because that edge has gotten a little too sharp. He’s been an adult for almost a year now, but Jared has literally never felt more like a horny teenager in his entire life, except maybe for that seemingly endless stretch of time when he was desperately trying to get into Bryce’s pants and Bryce kept being like, a gentleman. That may have been worse. May have. He doesn’t know, this is up there.

With a half hour to go Jared sits down on the couch, flips through all the favourited channels. It’s mostly sports ones, and in the middle of the day, there isn’t much to watch, so that only burns about five minutes before he turns the TV off. Considers playing something, but he doesn’t have the attention span. This is totally ridiculous, he’s acting like, he doesn’t know, like he did waiting for Bryce to pick him up for that first date that wasn’t a date, or was, or — 

“What are you doing?” Bryce asks, laughter in his voice, when he walks in the door to find Jared with feet hooked around the back of the couch and his head on the floor.

“Stimulating blood flow to the brain,” Jared says, with great dignity, instead of ‘you took so long I started to count flecks in the plaster to occupy myself’. That sounds bad. “Also I’m pretty sure I’m stuck now.” Not _stuck_ stuck, but he doesn’t see a way out of this position without possible injury.

Bryce, laughing a little, helps him out, letting Jared brace himself on him as he gets himself right side up again. “That some workout thing I haven’t heard about?” Bryce asks.

“Bored,” Jared finally admits. “Waiting for you.”

Bryce smiles at him, this pleased little grin that hits Jared right in the chest.

“I made pasta salad,” Jared says. “It’s in the fridge. I double-checked everything, it’s all in your nutrition plan.”

“Are you hungry right now?” Bryce asks. “Because uh—”

“I’m good,” Jared says. “Just figured you’d be.”

“Did you wanna—” Bryce says, with this little flick of his eyes toward the hall and, presumably, their room and, Jared is also presuming here, the topic of Jared’s minor — okay not so minor — obsession of late.

“I mean, yeah,” Jared says. “That’s like, a general state of mine. Like, right now?”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “But can I have like, a rule?”

“Um,” Jared says. “Okay?”

“Can you not ask me if I’m sure like, a million times?” Bryce asks.

“I don’t ask a million times,” Jared mutters.

“Or like, at all,” Bryce says. “Because I am, I’m just — I’m pretty sure if you ask I’ll chicken out, so.”

“Okay, we are not playing gay chicken here,” Jared says. “I refuse to let our sex life be a game of gay chicken. If you’re not ready—”

“I _am_ ,” Bryce says. “I just. Don’t make me ask for it again. Please.”

Jared chews his lip.

“Can you just like, trust me?” Bryce says.

“Okay, but what if you’re not sure,” Jared says. “And I keep going anyway and like, permanently scar you?”

“Your dick isn’t that big,” Bryce says, doing a pretty dead on impression of Jared. Well. It’s a snotty impression of Jared, but Jared’s pretty sure that most people would say the snottiness made it dead on.

“I meant psychologically,” Jared says. “God.”

“I trust you,” Bryce says. “And like, if I tell you to stop I know you would, so.”

“I would,” Jared says.

“I _know_ that,” Bryce says. “So can you just. Not ask?”

“Okay,” Jared says. “But I’m going to go like, really slow.”

“Okay,” Bryce says. 

“And probably like, look deep into your eyes and hold your hand and say mushy things,” Jared says. “It’s going to be obnoxiously sweet and romantic.”

He doesn’t know why he said that like a threat. Bryce _loves_ obnoxiously sweet and romantic. That’s basically his modus operandi with Jared.

Bryce smiles at him, all soft, so yeah, the threat totally didn’t work, and now Jared’s promised, so he’s going to have to follow through.

There are worse ways he could be spending a Thursday afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Feels like a good time for my occasional mention that [I have a tumblr for this 'verse](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com/).


End file.
